Laying The Foundations
by silentshark
Summary: A back-story for Makarov, explaining what he was up to pre-Zakhaev and showing that appearances may be deceptive.
1. Tripping into Trouble

**_Hi guys._**

Bit of an explanation for this one. I'm in the process of writing a post-MW2 story and our favourite Russian terrorist features heavily, unlike in the game. So I thought he needed a bit of a back-story to put some flesh on the bones, seeing as IW didn't give us much to go on.

OCs are mine (by definition) the rest belongs to Infinity Ward.

Hope you enjoy. R&Rs are appreciated but I will carry on regardless, writing is considerably more exciting than work :)

Sharky

* * *

**Warsaw, April 2000**

The young woman briskly stepped out of the apartment building, slamming the peeling front door behind her. It was Friday night, she was late for work and her boss wasn't the kind of person you should make a habit of being late for. Not that the dark haired man had much to do with the girls who worked in his bar, but he cut a brooding, intimidating figure. She'd been in Warsaw long enough to recognise a few people to nod greetings to as she hurried along the quiet streets in the dying light. It'd been three years since she'd pitched up in Poland with almost no money, a suitcase to her name and not a friend in the city but, always a solitary child; she wasn't one for baggage any way. Three years on, she'd almost achieved what she came here to do, get her degree in Politics, and then the world was her oyster... well, the parts of it she wasn't going to get immediately arrested for entering.

She jogged across the road, tucking her blonde flyaway curls behind her ears as she ran. Negotiating the taxis that had just started their shifts, she managed to duck into the alley behind the bar. A couple of the bouncers were out the back, sneaking a cigarette before they started and smiled "hellos" at the girl slipping past them. The girl smiled back, it paid to be polite to these boys. Faced with an exclusively young and female bar staff, it was known for the male punters to over-step the mark on occasions and it took the six-foot and scarred slabs of meat to remind them of their manners.

As the blonde girl stepped inside, Irena, the supervisor and day-to-day manager of the bar, was in a state of visible panic.

"Lizzy! Where have you been?" she proclaimed in Polish, simultaneously grabbing the girl by the arm, snatching the coat from her hand and pushing her towards the bar. "The boss is in. He's having a meeting. And we're packed!"

The girl started to try and explain her reasons for being late but they were waved away by Irena.

"Just be good Lizzy" she warned as the girl was shoved into work.

Caesar's had a reputation in Warsaw for being a mob club, but to Lizzy's constant surprise, this didn't put people off. Their reasoning was that no one would start trouble in the plush surroundings when the majority of the VIP area was packing side arms. She glanced up to the roped off section as she started serving and indeed, the boss was in, suited as ever and surrounded by his usual lackeys. Lizzy had worked here long enough to suspect that the "meeting" Irena spoke of was a drug deal of some sort. She could afford to be blasé about it. The boss, hypocritically enough, liked to keep his bars drug and junkie-free and she'd reconciled with herself long ago that the monetary outcome of such deals helped to pay her wages. With her bar job being her only source of income and jobs hard to come by in the city, Lizzy couldn't afford to be morally particular about who she worked for.

As the night wore on, the music got louder and the bar got busier. Lizzy went into auto-pilot, hardly managing to look past the first row of people waving money at her from the other side of the bar. Once she had learned where everything was, she didn't even need to look at what her hands were doing as she poured drinks and almost danced around the other girls who were serving. The other good thing about working in a place like Caesar's was the tips and Lizzy found her flirty cheekiness, bordering on inappropriateness at times, paid dividends to Irena's constant exasperation. She'd just turned round to pop a couple of notes into the tip jar when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Ania, one of the younger members of staff, was clutching a note and biting her lip with worry.

"The boss wants this order" she said, nervously.

Lizzy checked the list, a couple of bottles of champagne and a bottle of brandy. "You know where they are Ania" she said, not unkindly. "And the boss doesn't bite."

"But..." she said, looking up to the VIP area "The boss is with Petrov."

Suddenly Lizzy understood Ania's reluctance. Roman Petrov was another Russian in Poland, he controlled much of the "merchandise" which made it on to Warsaw's streets. And along with that, he was a molesting leech that even the bouncers daren't challenge. The girls who served his tables usually ended up with a couple of bruises on their behinds for their trouble and a couple of bruises elsewhere if Petrov thought no one was looking. The girls hated him but couldn't say a word while he was dealing with the boss. Lizzy looked up to the VIP area and then back at Ania. Lizzy was no giant herself, but the little dark-haired Polish girl was petite in comparison and fresh meat for Petrov's unwelcome advances. She took the list out of Ania's hand as the girl breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thanks Lizzy, you can have my tips tonight." They both knew Lizzy wouldn't accept them.

Might as well get this over and done with.... she thought.

Lizzy ignored the other customers as she loaded up her tray with ice buckets, glasses and bottles. It was a good job she was stronger than she looked, Ania would've struggled with this weight anyway. Steeling herself for the inevitable groping but hoping that the boss's presence would protect her, Lizzy balanced the tray on her arm and carefully made her way to the VIP area, occupied solely by those involved in the "meeting". The boss, a thin man with high cheek bones, was sprawled casually on the sofas. He nodded a greeting to the girl as she made her way towards the low table and tried to ignore the probing and greedy eyes of Petrov and his goons as she shuffled passed. She was almost there when her foot struck something hard on the floor. She just had time to look down and see that Petrov's booted foot had shot out from under his chair to trip her before the weight of the tray dragged her over.


	2. Pulling the Punches

As when any glass breaks in a loud bar, silence erupts for a couple of seconds afterwards, before the inevitable wit decides to sarcastically clap. This time there was no applause, the punters could see which area of the club the commotion had come from. Lizzy raised her head, a mortified look on her face and met the passive gaze of her boss. His even look from his odd-coloured eyes assured her that she wasn't in immediate trouble with him, but it unnerved her all the same. Had he seen that Petrov had tripped her?

"Should employ girls who can see, Makarov" Petrov laughed as Lizzy, still on her knees, righted the tray and started picking up the glass with her hands. "Not idiots like this one."

She wasn't ready for the blow when it came, the back of Petrov's gloved hand striking the side of her head and sending her sprawling into the sticky, sharp mess on the floor. She instinctively put her hands down to save herself and immediately wished she hadn't as shards of glass punctured her skin. Through her pain and embarrassment, her temper, an inheritance from her Father, raised unchecked and in one fluid motion she got to her feet and swung her right fist at Petrov's face. As much as she wasn't expecting his slap, he wasn't expecting hers either. She caught him square on, his nose crunching sickeningly against his cheek and the momentum of her punch knocking him off his chair. Lizzy stood back.

Time seemed to stand still and the club again went silent. No one else in the VIP areas moved as Petrov picked himself up and walked towards the girl, blood streaming down his face. Lizzy stood in front of him defiantly, still too angry to regret what she'd done and too pumped with adrenaline to feel the pain that would surely come in her right hand. She could see in her peripheral vision that Makarov was still seated. Petrov stood an arm length from the girl, pulled his pistol from his holster and placed the barrel against Lizzy's forehead. The bar emptied quietly as the revellers headed for the door, deciding that the cabaret was over just as the bouncers burst through the other way. They could only stand helplessly in the middle of the floor. Lizzy was one of their own and ordinarily, no one would have got away with pulling a gun on her. But Petrov was Petrov. The sound of him clicking the safety off reverberated around Lizzy's skull.

He finally managed to compose himself enough to speak. "How dare you!" he spat at the girl "How-..."

"Put the gun down" Makarov spoke softly in Russian. He never had to raise his voice to get attention; he'd learnt that one as an officer in the army.

Petrov looked at him in disbelief and started to speak. "But-..."

"I do not want to hear it, Petrov. Put the gun down" Makarov stood up and casually made his way towards the pair.

Lizzy could do little but watch the scene unfold. She'd exhausted her bravado for the day and as likely as it was looking at that moment in time, she didn't fancy getting shot.

"But how dare she disrespect me!" Petrov shouted, recovering his anger and jabbing the gun into Lizzy's head, as if to make his point.

Makarov was now stood next to them, looking from Lizzy to Petrov. He wasn't exactly a physically imposing man, especially not compared to Petrov who could be described as "portly" in polite company and stood a good few inches taller than Makarov, but he exuded an aura of control.

"I do not ask three times" he said, moving in to the blink of an eye to shove Petrov's gun away from Lizzy with his right hand while drawing his own with his left. Petrov was forced on to his knees and his pistol was unloaded into the roof of the bar in the struggle. Dust from the ceiling tiles fell like snow.

"You never learn, do you Roman?" Makarov's voice was almost soothing as Petrov tried to free his hands from his strong and unyielding grasp. "You disrespect me in business. I expect that. But I will not have you coming in here to disrespect my staff. I want nothing more to do with you until you learn some manners."

The butt of Makarov's gun was brought with some force against the side of Petrov's face, knocking the man clean out. Makarov let him fall back on to the floor, holstering his weapon and wiping his hands as though he'd come into contact with something unclean. Raising his head to address Petrov's men and his own, Makarov ordered the end of their stand-off and for Petrov's men to leave, taking their unconscious boss with them. This time, he knew he wouldn't even have to ask twice.

Makarov finally turned his attention to Lizzy, his face still impassive. The girl stood, clutching her now throbbing hand, and decided that for once in her life, silence might be the best course of action. Her face burned where Petrov had slapped her and her look of anguish and sorrow was a very easy one to read. Makarov gently grasped her by the elbow and led her towards the bar. Irena and the other girls looked on hopelessly as she was taken in the back, towards his office.

Wordlessly, she was directed to a chair in front of his desk while Makarov left the room. She hadn't been in here since her interview here with Irena all those years ago, there hadn't been any need. She was usually on time, never lifted money from the till and put in a good shift. A curious girl by nature, ordinarily she would've taken the opportunity to look around, but tonight she decided to concentrate on her feet, acutely aware that they could be the last thing she saw while still drawing breath.

Makarov returned a couple of minutes later, softly closing the door behind him and pulling up a chair opposite the girl. Lizzy would have been more comforted had he slammed the door; at least she would've known where she stood.


	3. Benevolence from the Boss

**Happy Monday guys.**

**There's quite a lot of dialogue over these next couple of chapters before we get back to the action. The whole story has been completed (18 chapters in all) so I'm being a bit of a tease by releasing two chapters at a time. Hope you don't mind ;)**

**Cheers for the reviews so far.**

**Sharky  
**

* * *

Makarov was fuming but you wouldn't know to look at him. The meeting had been called because he had learned that Petrov intended to screw him over with this latest shipment from South America, skimming extra profit off what they had previously agreed. When you deal with criminals, you expect to be double-crossed. But he would not have Petrov throwing his weight around in his club, causing trouble under his roof.

The Police had long since wanted an excuse to raid the club suspecting, correctly, that it was a vehicle for the laundering of Makarov's ill-gotten gains. A shooting would've been the perfect reason but no matter how annoyed he was, he couldn't bring himself to blame the girl.

Her bravery had surprised him, it had certainly surprised Petrov. The look on the fat man's face when she had hit him was one Makarov wished he could have put there himself. She was... interesting and with a right hook like that, she might prove useful.

Makarov's hands were cold as they reached across for her cut and injured ones and when she looked up she realised why he'd left the room; he'd been to fetch a bucket full of ice and laid on his knee was a first aid kit. His quietness terrified her but she decided that he was unlikely to maliciously hurt her after going to the trouble of fetching bandages. Lizzy spoke as he bent forwards and diligently attended to her hands, removing the glass with a look of concentration on his face.

"Prosti menya" she started.

Makarov's laugh startled her. She hadn't had to speak Russian in a while, but she was sure it wasn't that bad. Languages had been her only strong-point in school and she spoke several fluently; she thought of Russian as being one of them. He looked up from her hands and met her eyes, his face normally so carefully neutral showing a rare glimmer of amusement.

"He got what he deserved" Makarov answered in English and Lizzy relaxed when she realised he wasn't laughing at her. "I was just not expecting one of my bar staff to be the one to give it to him. Your name is Lizzy?"

Lizzy managed to nod, but her surprise was insurmountable. Firstly at his instant dismissal of her misdemeanors and secondly at him remembering her name. In the three years of working here, he had done little more than nod at her, the same with most of the girls. He decided to compound her shock by applying the ice compress on her knuckles at the same time, causing her to flinch from his touch.

"You hold it on then" he smiled, handing her the ice-cube filled cloth and standing up. "I do not think your hand is broken."

He chose not to tell her why he remembered her in particular. Irena had been at pains to seek his approval to employ an English girl, knowing his dislike for that particular country. He'd left the decision up to Irena; he normally had more important things on his mind than one of his bar maids. Until now, that was. He wanted to know more about her.

He moved lithely to his desk and pulled a bottle from his lower drawer before sitting back across from the girl. Using the cubes left in the bucket, Makarov placed some ice in a glass before proffering it to Lizzy, filling it with brandy when she accepted.

"So, what do you do when you are not here beating up my customers?" his English was heavily accented with a slight American-twang and it was hard to judge for intonation, but his look was slightly mischievous.

If Lizzy has been with anyone else in different circumstances, she would have bet money that she was being flirted with. While her inner voice told her to stay on her guard, she did relax somewhat. She found herself thinking that he looked quite attractive when he smiled. His nose had probably been broken one to many times for him to be considered conventionally handsome, but he wasn't nearly so intimidating close up as he had always appeared.

"I study" she said and when she realised that answer wasn't going to satisfy him added, "Politics. At Warsaw University"

He nodded, seemingly in approval. "And you could not study Politics in England?"

"I could, but I needed to get away. Family stuff." Lizzy hoped this sounded boring enough not to pique his attention but it seemed that her boss was in a talkative mood.

"What kind of family stuff?" he probed, leaning back on his chair

Lizzy looked at him and realised she was going to have a hard time lying. Here was a man who seemed more used to getting information from people than giving it. Deciding that her night couldn't get any more bizarre and with the brandy going straight to her head, Lizzy told him everything.

About her Father being in the Army and being brought up in barracks in the north of England as an "Army Brat".

About her Mother dying young leaving her pretty much on her own, her Father caring but always too busy to spend any time with his only child.

About that night out to celebrate her best mate and occasional boyfriend's promotion through the ranks, the Police raiding the pub they were in with sniffer dogs, searching everyone.

Lizzy described her friend's worried look as he reached in his pocket and pulled out a clear bag of white power. "Please" he'd begged her.

It would've cost him the career he cared so much about. Eighteen years old and preparing for her gap year, Lizzy wasn't so much concerned about her future job prospects. So out of a misguided sense of loyalty, she pocketed the powder and took the hit for him.

"I skipped the country while out on bail" she smiled at how much of an out-law that made her sound "I was due in court a week after I'd arrived here. I didn't even know it was cocaine until the Police told me. I used the money Mum left me to pay my University fees. Everything else, I pay for by working here. My Dad doesn't know where I am, so he can't lecture me about how much of a disappointment I turned out to be."

Makarov had stayed quiet throughout her story but looked up at her as she finished.

"Why did you choose politics?" he asked quietly. It wasn't the question she expected after revealing her life story, but she thought it was an easy one to answer.

"It's interesting" she stated. "My Father thinks that diplomacy can only take place when you've got your hand on the end of a gun. I think that politics can remove the need for guns."

Makarov laughed a mirthless laugh. "And yet you realised that politics would not have got you very far out there, hitting Petrov instead of trying to be diplomatic. Some people just don't understand politics, but they do understand violence."

"Perhaps" she said "But it's a good job those people aren't in power."

Makarov raised an eyebrow in reply.


	4. Diplomatic Discourse

The hours rolled on as they debated political treaties. Lizzy was impressed by Makarov's ability to eloquently explain his point of view in a language that wasn't his own, her offer to speak Russian being waved away. He chose not to tell her that he had a degree in Politics himself, from Harvard of all places. It seemed a long time ago now, before he had chosen to stay in the Army after his compulsory military service, before he had reason to fall out with the West for its interfering ways.

Makarov, although disagreeing with a lot that Lizzy had to say, found he was enjoying the conversation. He was a quiet man who usually spared little thought to the opinion of others. For the last few years of his life, he'd spent his time with ruthless soldiers and well-connected criminals, it was usually wise to say as little as possible to such people. For the most part, they weren't exactly gifted in the art of intellectual conversation.

He preferred them to the other kind of people though, the sycophants; those who told you exactly what you wanted to hear to get you on their side. Makarov thought that such individuals were spineless; he had no use for them.

Lizzy didn't fit into either category. She respectfully countered his arguments with her own, her Western experience of capitalism in stark contrast to the communist upbringing he had in the Soviet Union. She was young but not naïve. Their conversation was lively, passionate at times, but not hostile.

Makarov had learnt not to trust anyone after being bitterly let down by the Army, nor give anyone enough rope to hang you with. His aloofness has been his success these past few years, not getting close enough to one person to threaten the empire he was building up. But despite his business achievements in Europe, his exile from Russia still rankled and the bitterness at times threatened to consume him. The girl had found solace for her personal problems in politics. Zakhaev had proposed something similar to him...

* * *

Lizzy tried unsuccessfully to stifle her yawn and Makarov looked at his watch. He became business-like again. "It is late and you have had a busy night. I should not have kept you."

"No. Tonight has been good... eventually" Lizzy smiled. The bruise on the side of her head had started to bloom and her hand still ached, but the pain had been dulled by the generous amount of brandy Makarov had plied her with. She got up to leave and the alcohol and tiredness hit her, causing her to sway on her feet. Makarov jumped up and wound a surprisingly strong arm round her waist.

"I think we had better get you home. My car is round the corner."

"No" she protested, gently pushing him away and despairing at his attitude to drink driving. "My _house_ is only round the corner and the walk will do me good."

A stubborn look crossed her face, the same one he saw when she was faced with Petrov's gun. Deciding that arguing with her would end well for neither of them, Makarov asked if she would at least let him walk with her.

Lizzy, a little too tipsy to properly fight him off had she wanted to, relented. She had to admit that she rather liked the feel of his arm around her. It scared and thrilled her in equal measure.

It was early morning and the bar was just closing down as they left his office, Makarov quietly chuckling at how unsteady the girl was on her feet. Irena, bustling around as ever, almost walked into them as she carried two large bags of money into the back.

"Ooo! I'm sorry. I was just... the takings" she motioned with the bags.

Lizzy again sensed that Makarov's demeanour had changed and his stance stiffened. Gone was the open and talkative person from the office and in its place, he was back to the brooding man she was used to seeing from afar in the club. His arm however, remained around her. Irena had noticed it.

"That's fine. Make sure everything is tidy. I'm going." His sentences were sharp and quietly delivered, the friendliness replaced with cold professionalism.

Irena looked from one to the other, a worried look coming over her face when she looked at the girl "Lizzy...?"

"She's fine". Makarov said, indicating that the conversation was over. Lizzy was just able to nod her head in reassurance before she was whisked out of the door.


	5. Chivalry from the Chaos

**Mrs. Spencer Reid: Cheers for the feedback. I hear you as far as teasing goes but it's by design rather than accident. I don't like to have too much dialogue on one page :)  
**

**As I said, this is mainly a prelude to limit the amount of explanation needed for a story I'm currently writing... and that one's going to be a biggy.  
**

**Have a nice Tuesday everyone.**

**Sharky.**

* * *

The pre-dawn air hit them as they emerged into the alley and Lizzy was relieved to note that it sobered her up somewhat.

She untangled herself from Makarov's supporting arm. "I _am_ fine" she smiled. He returned the gesture.

"So, where does a wanton criminal, masquerading as a student and bar maid live?" he teased as they walked. He was evidently back to being friendly again. It was like he was two completely different people.

Lizzy, initially relieved for his presence through the rough streets around work, suddenly realised that she didn't want Makarov to see where she lived. The rumours were that he lived in a palatial mansion on the outskirts of the city. She shared an apartment what was once a grand old house, but was now a hovel inhabited by the lower echelons of Warsaw's society, encompassing a fair amount of alcoholics, prostitutes and drug addicts.

Lizzy had a good lock on her bedroom door and the rent was cheap, plus her flat mates had their hearts in the right place, even if they weren't always sure where their heads were. But after a strange evening of being treated like an equal by her boss, she didn't want Makarov thinking badly of her.

_Perhaps you should've thought about that before you twatted his associate_... her inner voice piped up.

There was nothing else for it but to be honest. "In a tip" she admitted.

Makarov raised a questioning eye-brow.

"You'll see... seeing as you insist on coming with me" she sighed. "But you offered... remember that."

They rounded a corner and were greeted with the sight of around a dozen people passed out on the steps leading up to a house with electronic dance music blaring. Someone had vomited out of the first story window and not managed to get the clearance from the building they wanted. Needles, wrappers, spoons and bottles littered the pavement and the aforementioned stairs.

She would normally have found the whole scene bemusing. It was one she was used to seeing and she knew they really meant no harm. Some good parties had taken place in that house, Lizzy politely refusing anything stronger than the alcohol. But looking at it through Makarov's more cultured eyes, she was mortified.

"I'd invite you in for a drink but..." she started, unable to ignore her English attitude to hospitality, in spite of the situation.

"A drink would be good" Makarov responded, unable to ignore the nagging feeling that he shouldn't leave her on this doorstep to hell.

He grimaced at the spectacle. He wasn't used to having to deal with the end-users of the products he made a business of smuggling into the country, that's why he dealt with scum like Petrov.

They carefully picked their way through the detritus and ascended the steps. The hallway was littered with rubbish as people mingled, the doors to the flats on either side wide open.

"It's very erm... community spirited" Lizzy offered by way of explanation, continuing up the stairs, passing one couple having uncomfortable looking sex on the first floor landing.

There was less mess and fewer people the higher they climbed and on getting to the fourth floor, Lizzy was relieved to note that at least her flat wasn't operating an open-door policy for the ensuing party on the lower levels. As she unlocked the door and pushed it open, she was also relieved to see that the rest of her flat mates were enjoying someone else's hospitality for the evening.

Makarov scanned the dimly-lit kitchen. To call it unassuming would be to oversell it, but he noted that it was clean for the most part and from the looks of the people downstairs, it was the girl in front of him who was responsible for that. She checked the fridge and closed it with a look of disgust, but fetched two glasses out of the cupboard and motioned for him to follow her. She led him down the hallway to a room secured with a large padlock, the key to which she removed from her pocket and opened the door.

Her room was reasonably sized, clean and tidy apart from the desk, which was strewn with papers, books and manuscripts. There was an old sofa which Makarov sat on while Lizzy bolted the door behind them.

"Force of habit" she explained "If you let them get in, they'll nick your stuff and sell it to buy their gear. My computer's been pawned that many times that I'm on first name terms with the guy in the shop. I usually don't mind so much but when I'm a month away from finishing at Uni, I don't want my dissertation going walkies."

Makarov smiled inwardly. She had the patience of a saint with the kind of low-lives who'd steal her computer but a short fuse with people like Petrov who were more likely to kill her than argue back.

"No milk for tea or coffee so vodka will have to do" she said, shaking a bottle in his direction. He accepted the glass and she topped it up.

"I hope your measures are not this generous at the bar, I will lose money" he said quietly.

She met his look and tried to read his face as she sat behind her desk, clearing a space in the papers to put down her glass.

"How do you study surrounded by these...." he tried to think of a word for the occupants of the house that wouldn't offend her. He couldn't come up with one and backtracked. ".... this noise?"

"They tend to be fairly quiet in the day. Sleeping it off" she said "and I spend most of my time at Uni."

"And sleep?" Makarov was aware that he was probably sounding more fatherly than he intended, but the girl intrigued him. It would've probably done more for his reputation to allow Petrov to kill her. For his own sake and increasingly hers, he was glad he hadn't.

"What do you think the vodka is for? I don't work every night, but can get by on a couple of hours when I need to." Makarov decided against chiding her further. He found that he liked her, it wasn't often that he thought that someone was being honest with him. And she didn't seem afraid of him.

He walked over to her desk, picking up her copy of Philosophy, Politics and Poetry.

"Have you read it?" Lizzy inquired.

Makarov shook his head. "I never have the time."

"Make the time and take it" Lizzy ordered, pushing it into his hands. "I think you'll like it"

Makarov slipped the slim volume into the inside pocket of suit jacket and downed his drink. "I had better go."

Lizzy nodded and followed him to the front door.

He turned round as he stood on the threshold. "Make sure you lock the door behind you."

She smiled and nodded. "Thank you for... you know."

This was normally the awkward point where most men would try to kiss her, even if it was a peck on the cheek. She wasn't vain, but knew she was reasonably attractive and his body language over the last few hours had told her that he wasn't exactly repulsed by her.

However, Makarov didn't make a move. He simply waited for her to step back from the door and pulled it closed behind him. He paused until he heard her key turn in the lock, then turned and made his way back down towards the chaos.

She didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved.


	6. Deal with the Devil

Lizzy woke later on that morning with the sun streaming in through her window and her head pounding. As her vision cleared, so did the memories of the previous night and she realised that her headache could be down to alcohol or the beating she suffered.

She stumbled her way to the mirror and her hands reminded her of the part they had played in the evening as well, her palms and knuckles crisscrossed with cuts. Her face looked a mess but could cover the worst of the damage with make up.

The rest of the building was quiet as she quickly showered and changed before throwing all her papers and books in her bag and heading off to the park. Last night had brought her mortality acutely into focus; it seemed a shame to waste the day indoors.

* * *

Makarov meanwhile woke up with a start in his chair. He'd headed back to the club after leaving Lizzy and although he promised himself he wouldn't, he looked through the filing cabinet to find her employee records. He wasn't expecting to find out much more than she'd told him and in that respect, he wasn't disappointed.

Beyond her start date, he found her disciplinary record empty and realised she hadn't had a pay rise in the three years she'd been working for him. Looking at the place she called home, he felt a bit bad about that one. He noted that she was twenty one, eight years younger than him but still fresh-faced, while the first flecks of grey were just starting to appear in his dark hair. Still, he made a note of her address and mobile number and tucked the paper into her copy of Philosophy, Politics and Poetry.

He flicked through the pages while he thought, noting her pencil-written annotations and smiling at her self-directed commentary - !!REMEMBER THIS!! had been written a few times throughout the book. When he put it down, he had come to a decision.

He grabbed another piece of paper out of his desk and on it, in his own careful script, was the number of Imran Zakhaev. The one-armed trouble maker was long overdue a call.

* * *

Lizzy tried all week to concentrate on her work, but couldn't. Her mind was full of thoughts of what had happened that night and what would happen when she went into work tomorrow. She only had to stay in Warsaw until she graduated, but she needed the bar job until then. Irena would ask questions and if Makarov was hard to lie to, Irena was impossible. The girls had often thought the bar's matriarch had missed her true calling as an interrogator.

What was Lizzy meant to say? That the boss was actually human? That he'd seen to her cuts, made small talk and walked her home? And as if they'd believe her if she tried to claim that nothing happened after that - he didn't strike anyone as the altruistic type.

They all knew about the drugs, but the girls in the bar told other stories when they were sure he couldn't be around to hear. The worst of the tales was that he was involved with prostitution rings throughout Europe with unwanted girls bought in from China, some little more than children. And that he'd been involved with some awful things while with the army. The word "massacre" had been mentioned more than once. Try as she might, Lizzy couldn't reconcile those stories with the man who insisted on walking her home last night but she wasn't na_ï_ve enough to think he'd gotten as rich as he evidently was through shrewd and legitimate business alone.

She wasn't surprised that she hadn't heard from him since that strange night, he was obviously a busy man. They could go weeks at the club without seeing him. She tried not to let her thoughts linger on second-guessing what he thought of her. Perhaps the next time she saw him, all would be forgotten. She would be the anonymous face behind the bar and he would treat her the same way he always had before, the same way he spoke to Irena that night.

She was still deep in thought as she wandered back to the flat from an unsuccessful stint in the University library. Her right hand was a rainbow of purples and blues and ached relentlessly, putting paid to any writing she tried to do. As she rounded the corner, she was surprised to see a blacked out BMW parked outside her building and her initial thoughts were of Petrov. She knew Makarov was the only reason she hadn't had a bullet through her head that night and had been a little jumpy all week.

But as far as she knew, he didn't have any means of finding out where she lived and surely wouldn't be this obvious. The road might be inhabited by the waifs and strays of Warsaw, but they were waifs and strays with big mouths. As she walked towards the car, a man she recognised as one of Makarov's entourage stepped out and handed her a parcel. He was silent in the face of her confusion, simply getting back in the car before it drove away.

She waited to see the car disappear round the corner before wandering up to her room. She wasn't sure why she did it, but she held the jiffy bag against her ear to see if it was ticking. She was immediately embarrassed that she did so, cursing her overactive imagination, especially when she sat behind her desk and opened the package to find a book with a letter tucked inside. Lizzy laughed when she saw the title, Sun Tzu's The Art of War, translated into Russian. She opened the letter:

_Lizzy_

_I have marked some passages in the book. From our conversation the other night, I think you have a lot to learn, but unfortunately, I cannot be there to teach you._

_For that reason, I wish to ask a favour of you. I have to go back to Russia on some urgent business but do not wish to leave my house unattended. I understand that you like working in the bar and Irena speaks highly of you, but for reasons you probably understand, I think it would be wise for you to keep a low profile for a while. I propose that instead, you stay at my house. You have your studies to complete which, despite your protestations, I do not think you can do satisfactorily while in the place you currently call home. My house will be quiet and there will be no need for locks on the bedroom door to stop people stealing your things. _

_I have food delivered, that I do not know how to cancel, so will go to waste without anyone there to eat it. I will pay you the same wages you would receive working full time at the bar and the rent for your flat while you are not there to enjoy it._

_One request, please leave your drug taking friends where they are._

_My car will return in an hour to collect you. Bring everything you would need for a two month stay. Viktor has been instructed to help you carry anything you cannot manage. Forgive me for not being able to deliver this note in person, but I too have to pack._

_I will see you shortly._

_Vladimir_

Lizzy folded up the note and looked around her. It wouldn't take her ten minutes to pack never mind an hour, Makarov must know that after his brief visit here the other night. On the one hand, she was being taken hostage by someone she hardly knew - his note gave her no opportunity to refuse. On the other, the note gave her no _reason_ to refuse.

She wasn't sure anyone had ever been kidnapped with such benefits before; free board and food for two months while living in a mansion? And it's not like he would be there with her. She grabbed the suitcase from under her bed, wincing as she forgot about her hand, and threw all her worldly possessions into it.

In the years to come and with the wisdom they granted her, Lizzy would bitterly regret that decision.


	7. A Magnificent Mansion

**Apologies for the delay in updates... for some reason, I can't upload docs from my Powerbook.**

**So back to the PC, and back to the story...**

**I've tried to get the "fluff" out of the way all in one chapter ;)  
**

* * *

One good thing about lackeys, Lizzy thought as she stood outside her house with her case and computer at her side, was that you could always rely on them to be punctual. Exactly an hour after leaving, the black car had returned and Viktor wordlessly helped her put her things in the boot.

If this story got round the bar, there would be no denying some sort of relationship, but Lizzy thought she had little to lose. For some reason, Makarov seemed to want to help her out and after three years of fighting her own battles; that flattered her. Lizzy was one who rarely dwelt on the consequences of her actions. It was a trait that was forever getting her into trouble but she loved the buzz of heading into the unknown. Plus she had no idea what Makarov saw in her and she wanted to find out.

* * *

Makarov was wondering exactly the same thing as her car was en route, and the only reason he could come up with was one that didn't sit comfortably with him.

He'd spent many long years in the Army before his enforced discharge and his years in exile had been spent building up his business, making more enemies than friends. There had been no time for girls or women. Or rather, there hadn't been time for girls or women he hadn't needed to pay for. They were cold and emotionless transactions when he needed them.

But faced with Petrov's gun, Makarov saw Lizzy filled with anger and defiance which masked her hurt. It resonated with his own emotions. Looking at Lizzy that night had been like looking in a mirror. He was forced to admit to himself that he was attracted to her but he was a dangerous man to know. Getting involved with her could be risky for both of them and Makarov was a man who didn't usually take risks. He figured she wouldn't be coming if she knew the full extent of his past and the potential problems in his future.

Still, it was too late to change his mind now, at least about her staying here while he was gone. And at least the girl might be able to get her Uni stuff done to allow her to get out of Poland. He watched from the upper floor window as the headlights of his car swung into the drive.

* * *

Viktor had been silent throughout the car journey but Lizzy felt his eyes on her when he thought she couldn't see him looking. She didn't even try to initiate conversation; she wasn't sure what she should say. But she couldn't stop the gasp escaping her lips when the car entered the automatic gates which led to Makarov's home. The gravel crunched beneath the car's tyres as the car pulled round to the front of the columned house and the large wooden doors.

Makarov, dressed casually for once in jeans and a dark t-shirt stepped out on to the porch and Lizzy was ushered inside with a nod of his head. The house was spotless. Beige carpets so thick she almost lost her feet in them and a sweeping marble staircase led from the hallway to an open landing upstairs.

Makarov took her through the house, explaining things as he went, pointing out the things she needed to know. He was quietly pleased by her awe. To him, it was just a place to rest his head... a useful status symbol to communicate his wealth and influence to any upstarts in the area thinking of usurping him.

Lizzy was struck by the magnificence of it all, but also the lack of personal touches; it almost felt like a hotel. No photographs in frames, no pets, no ornaments. It was like the image Makarov tried to portray of himself, smart but carefully neutral.

That was until he showed her into his office on the second floor. He had made an attempt to tidy up the things he didn't want her to see, and his computer had been dismantled to make way for her own but it was still the only room in the house which gave some indication that there was a person who actually lived there.

Calendars were tacked on the walls complete with cryptic marks and crosses, ledgers and books marked the perimeter of his desk. There was a mug of half-drunken coffee next to his wallet and mobile, which were placed on top of the book she had given him. For a man who claimed never to have time to read, he had an impressive library spanning the wall behind his desk, a mix of Russian and English titles on display, a myriad of genres.

Viktor had just arrived in the room with her computer when Makarov lead her down the hall to a room at the end. In it was the biggest bed Lizzy had ever seen and had to restrain herself from running and flinging herself on it. It was almost bigger than her whole room in the flat.

"Your room" Makarov said, with a slight smile "If you want it?"

Lizzy nodded in agreement. He didn't expect her to say no.

As they walked back down the hall, she noted the rooms he hadn't shown her. Some had locks on the doors, she didn't want to know what was behind them, but one didn't. She assumed that must be his bedroom and vowed not to let curiosity get the better of her and peek inside when he was gone, however much she wanted to know more about him.

They headed back down to the kitchen, where he had made her a list of who to expect and when. Between cleaners, gardeners, pool cleaners and food deliveries, Lizzy rather felt that Makarov's house would never be unattended. But she chose to hold her tongue.

Makarov reached into the big upright fridge and passed her a drink.

"If you need anything in particular for food, leave them a note on here" he said. "I do not think there is anything more to tell you."

"There is just one thing..." Lizzy started, speaking before she had time to think.

He looked at her with interest, as he had in his office a week ago.

"I want to know why you want me here?" she said finally. She could feel her heartbeat thumping in her chest and she instantly wished she hadn't said anything.

It was a question he'd been dreading because it was one he didn't want to tell her the answer to. She stood in front of him, her eyes trying to probe his and he found he couldn't look at her, anxious that his face would betray him.

Lizzy eventually realised that he wasn't angry at her question. He jumped as she reached her left hand up to his rough stubbled cheek and pulled his face to look at her. Neither of them were sure who made the next move as they grabbed each other but Makarov dug his hands into her blonde curls and kissed her greedily, forcing her back up against the kitchen side with a shove.

_This is wrong Vladimir, you know it. She is not in your plans..._ he thought, his head slowly regaining control of his body. He stepped away from her, rubbing his hand across his face.

"Lizzy... I am sorry..." he started "I did not mean..."

She stepped back towards him and silenced him, first by placing her index finger on his lips and then her own, kissing him, softer this time. He took the hint and gently took her into his arms, this time ignoring the warning bells in his head.

When they broke from their kiss the second time, they remained locked in their embrace, Makarov resting his forehead down on hers and sighing deeply.

"This will not end well. There are things about me-..." he started, gravely and quietly.

"I know" she whispered back in return, her face flushed but serious. She grabbed him by the hand and led him back up the stairs, to the room he hadn't shown her. She sensed his reluctance and he gently pulled her back.

"Are you sure?" he asked, looking vulnerable. She didn't strike him as the manipulative type, to use sex against him and cry rape. But despite his willingness, he didn't want to push her into doing anything she wasn't comfortable with. This fact alone shocked him to his normally icy core.

She smiled and nodded, placing her hands on his chest, the same hands he had taken in his to fix her cuts. That smile was dangerous; it was one that he would think about giving everything up for. He reached up over her shoulder and pushed his bedroom door open.

* * *

Whenever he had paid for a woman's company before, Makarov took them to hotels. They were much easier to get rid of that way and it kept things impersonal. He didn't even like the cleaner going in his room, much preferring to change his own sheets. He'd perfected the art of making his bed in the Military Academy; they were keen on that kind of thing. Beyond the removal men who had moved his furniture, Lizzy was the first person other than himself to step foot in here for years.

The curtains were closed, but through the gloom, Lizzy could see an open suitcase on the bed filled with dark suits and white shirts. A small dresser was strewn with cufflinks and expensive looking bottles of aftershave. A suit hung on the wardrobe doors, presumably ready for his trip. Makarov stepped passed her and carefully moved the suitcase on to the floor before turning to look at the girl. Lizzy felt that if she stopped to think, she would back out and immediately moved towards him.

Despite his desire and need to be in control, he was careful with her. He kissed her head where Petrov had smacked her and was rewarded with a soft little moan. She ran her hands down his lean but muscular body, digging her nails in his back with pleasure. He called out to her in Russian and enjoyed hearing his own language coming from her lips as she responded in kind. They came together when they each could stand no more. Makarov looked at her; her hair lay on the pillow, giving her a golden halo. She was beautiful.

"Ask me and I will stay here. Not go to Russia." he said eventually. At that moment in time, letting Zakhaev down would be easier than tearing himself away from her side. She laid her head on his arm and stroked his chest, watching his skin goose-bump where she touched him.

"Is it important?" she asked finally.

"It could be" he replied, truthfully.

"Could you get hurt?"

"I hope not" he responded, flattered at the fact she cared enough to ask.

"Then you should go. I will still be here when you get back and we'll both have some time to think. This..." she said, gesturing round the room with her free hand "... is a lot to take in. If there is a "this"?" she added, a note of caution in her voice.

_Intelligent and pragmatic..._ he thought and nuzzled a kiss into her hair. Lizzy had to be satisfied with that as the best answer she was going to get that night.

Eventually he heard her breathing deepen and her body relaxed in his arms. Sleep had never come easily to Makarov, his dreams were haunted by ghosts from the past. That night, with her warm body curled against his, he slept soundly for the first time in years.

* * *

Lizzy woke up early to see a silhouette getting dressed at the side of the bed. It took a couple of seconds to work out where she was and who it was, but she smiled inwardly when she realised. She sat up, pulling the sheets around her naked torso.

"Planning on leaving without saying goodbye?" she said, noticing him jump.

Makarov looked across at her. "No. But you looked peaceful. I did not want to wake you yet."

Lizzy didn't know whether to expect some awkwardness, she still wasn't sure what exactly was going on between them, but Makarov sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her close. He smelled clean and looked smart, clean shaven for once, she noted.

"Will you be ok here?" he asked, a serious look clouding his features.

Lizzy nodded. She was a little overwhelmed and a break away from work and the noise of home would do her good. A break away from him would help her think about what had happened over the past few days.

He turned his attention to his cuff links before Lizzy batted his hands away and fastened them for him. "Will you call me?" she asked.

"If I can." He didn't know what Zakhaev would have in store for him and he didn't want to make promises to her he couldn't keep.

While in the shower that morning, he had resolved to be as honest as he could with her. If she asked questions, he would tell her the truth, otherwise he would tell her as little as possible without resorting to mistruths. If she was going to stay with him, he needed to trust her but more importantly, he needed her to trust him. He shouldn't start by lying to her.

She seemed satisfied with his answer and laid back, propping her head on her elbow. Makarov straightened his dark blue tie in the mirror before slinging his jacket over his arm and taking his suitcase in his hand.

"You do not need to answer the telephone, let it go to answerphone. Anyone important knows my mobile phone number. I will deal with the post when I return. If you need anything urgently, telephone the club. Irena knows you are here and not to expect you in the bar."

He leaned in and kissed her quickly, not daring to linger. With his hand on the door handle, he turned and looked at her, looking as though he was going to say something more but deciding better of it. He left the room and closed the door softly behind him.

"You too, Vladimir" whispered Lizzy with a yawn, before rolling over and going back to sleep.


	8. Back Home With a Bang

Lizzy spent the next few weeks working on her dissertation, the pain in her hand subsiding more and more allowing her to get her work typed up and handed in. Her tutors congratulated her heartily, not expecting the unsettled English girl to stay the course.

Makarov hardly called, and wanted to make small talk about her and how her work was going when he did. He did sound happy to hear her voice though.

His apparent concern at wasted food was a source of amusement to Lizzy when she realised that enough to feed a football team arrived through the door every week. He'd either ordered more for her benefit or wasted it himself, as there was no way the thin man ate this much and he didn't strike her as one who often entertained in his home.

She read the copy of The Art of War he had given her, making notes to counter his arguments with on his return, and spent her free time swimming in his pool and watching his big-screen television. She didn't want to get used to this, she knew Makarov's mood towards her could change with the wind, but she was enjoying it while it lasted.

* * *

Makarov on the other hand, was having a less relaxing time in Russia. The country had been in a state of flux since the collapse of the Soviet Union and his own militaristic past meant an uncomfortable journey back into the Motherland to evade capture for his supposed "war crimes".

The action against him had been a joke. He and his unit had been following orders, "leave no one standing" they were told. This included the old and infirm, the women, the children, the babes in arms, they had been told to dispatch them all. Makarov had been a good soldier and the first thing drummed into a young man's head was to follow orders.

Then, when the civil war was over and the dust had settled, the West had come baying for blood, Makarov's name mentioned more than any other. Instead of refusing to bow to them, the Russian Government betrayed him and his comrades, casting them out of the country and promising severe consequences should they return. They had even had the cheek to act as though by discharging them, they were doing the men a favour.

He knew a lot about Imran Zakhaev, an opportunist looking to cash in on the fragile status quo that existed in the country. It seemed the right pressure applied in strategic areas and at the right time could topple those who had made Russia a puppet for the West and right the wrongs of the past. Makarov had the motive, ambition and powerful contacts to help Zakhaev and it was a while since he had gotten his hands dirty. The further he got from Warsaw, the more he thought of his revenge and his future, with thoughts of Lizzy nagging at the back of his mind.

* * *

Zakhaev greeted Makarov warmly, like an old friend instead of a distant acquaintance. He explained his plans briefly, about gathering together Russia's forgotten sons and bringing them together under the same banner - the Ultranationalists, a group of guerilla fighters with a political front. Zakhaev had contacts throughout the world who could supply arms, but he needed strong leaders to be close to him to help run things on the ground.

It was a long-term plan, Zakhaev told him, which would take many years to come to fruition. He was giving Makarov the chance to get involved early, prove his worth for large rewards. Makarov was interested. As far as he was concerned, money and revenge were the currency that made the world go round.

They spent weeks scouring over maps, files and weapons lists, choosing targets, deciding who to recruit, who to trust and writing up the Ultranationalist manifesto.

Zakhaev was impressed by Makarov's enthusiasm and intelligence, but sensed a ruthless streak in him. He knew a lot of angry young men but too many of them lacked the aptitude to channel their anger into ambition. Makarov had grown rich through his business interests, but it did not satisfy the man. Makarov only had a loose grasp on his emotions and his need for vengeance was almost consuming him.

For a man like Zakhaev, Makarov was exactly what he needed, a political thinker comfortable on the end of a gun.

* * *

Makarov was exhausted on his return to Poland, his head still buzzing with ideas. Zakhaev had promised to be in touch and Makarov took him on his word, for now though, all he had to do was wait and carry on as normal, keep his head down and his nose as clean as it was ever going to get.

It was midnight when his plane eventually landed; Viktor was waiting in the car outside the airport as Makarov stepped out of the terminal building's fluorescent glow. He knew Viktor wouldn't ask about his trip, Viktor knew he wouldn't tell him. They had known each other for years, Makarov offering him a job once their military careers were brought to a sudden end. It was fair to say that Viktor knew Makarov's idiosyncrasies better than he knew himself but he still couldn't work out what he was up to with this girl, it wasn't like him to be sentimental.

Makarov meanwhile had come to a decision. The things Zakhaev spoke of were risky and they required his full attention if he was going to pull them off and get away with it. He liked Lizzy, but he couldn't let her be a distraction nor did he want to be responsible for putting her in danger. It had to end now before he allowed himself to feel anything more for her. She was intelligent and he was sure she would understand. Makarov would help her in any way he could, and while those two nights had been interesting, there was no way that they could be together long-term. He had been fooling himself even entertaining the notion. He just hoped he could retain his resolve when he saw her again.

He made himself comfortable in the back of the car before picking his mobile up, intending to her and let her know he was on his way. He was surprised when the screen lit up in his hands.

Petrov.

He hadn't spoken to him since that night in the club a couple of months ago. He sounded drunk.

"Makarov... I must congratulate you."

"Really?" Makarov wasn't in the mood for the idiot. "Why?"

"This beautiful house you have" sneered Petrov. "It seems you have money to burn."

Makarov didn't like the tone of Petrov's voice. "Roman, I do hope you are not going to do anything you end up regretting?"

_This house..._ shouted Makarov's thoughts. _Why would he say "this house"?_

"I can assure you Makarov, the only person with regrets will be you. Young upstarts like you need to learn some respect for your elders."

"Petrov..." Makarov was trying to stay calm. Petrov normally wouldn't dream of standing up to him. But he was a drinker and a fool and his anger must have been stewing for weeks.

Suddenly, Makarov heard a sound down the phone he would have given anything in the world not to hear, but one that was unmistakable.

An explosion.

_Lizzy...._


	9. Heat and Hope

Lizzy had fallen asleep in front of the TV but woke with a start when the bomb detonated at the front door. Disorientated, she rolled on to the floor to try and escape the black smoke and choking dust that filled the room. The wallpaper was on fire and the carpet was catching in places, fragments of glass and brick everywhere. She had been fortunate not to be struck by any falling masonry in the initial blast but the fabric of the building had been damaged and looked fragile. Pulling her t-shirt up over her mouth, she crawled towards the expansive dining room which had french doors that would lead her outside.

Through the eerie silence, she heard her mobile ringing in the pocket of her jeans. She paused to answer it, praying that it was help.

"Lizzy! Are you there? Petrov-..." It was Makarov, panicked.

She tried to talk but the thick air was choking her. Makarov heard her coughing down the phone, struggling for breath.

"If you can hear me, get out. I am coming" he said. She slammed the phone shut and continued to crawl.

Petrov, unaware of anyone in the house but aiming for maximum destruction, had placed smaller devices round the perimeter of the building. As Lizzy crawled into the dining room, the first of these secondary bombs exploded sending a shower of glass inwards. She just managed to duck back into the living room as the jagged daggers lodged themselves in the opposite wall; she was riding her luck tonight, if you could call still being stuck in a burning house lucky.

Coughing and spluttering, Lizzy realised she was never going to be able to get through the french doors. The heat from the blast had fused the metal frames together and a deadly carpet of glass lined the floor. She had no choice but to go back the way she had come and try and get out of the front.

Small fires were merging into larger ones and the heat was intense. She hoped Makarov was telling the truth, that he really was on the way, she wasn't going to last much longer. She silently cursed Makarov's massive house as she tried to summon the last of her strength and pull herself towards what remained of the front door but she felt herself faltering, a lack of oxygen darkening her vision.

She fell unceremoniously, flat on her stomach, a rasping, nasty cough her only movement. She had never feared death and as the blackness enveloped her, she realised she had always been right - the worst things happened to you when you were living.

* * *

Viktor had known Makarov a long time, but he had never seen him this agitated. He'd overheard what had happened on the phone and didn't have to wait to be told to put his foot down. They had raced across the city in record time but were still a couple of miles away from Makarov's home. There was an ominous orange glow reflected in the clouds which told him that they might not like what they found when they got there.

As one of his men, Viktor had always looked up to Makarov and he supposed he was the closest Makarov had to a friend. Any other person might have tried to comfort the other in the same situation, but Viktor knew better. His words would sound hollow. They'd seen enough shit in the past to recognise it when it happened and this was certainly shit. Makarov seemed to like the girl and Viktor knew that Petrov was going to face Makarov's wrath sooner or later. Whether she was alive or not, he couldn't see it making much difference to Petrov now.

The car skidded to a halt outside the gates of Makarov's home and as he and Viktor jumped out, a scene of utter destruction faced them. The initial bomb had taken out the door way and collapsed much of the front of the house. Parts of the roof lay on the ground whilst other bits swayed dangerously in the breeze. Fires still blazed everywhere. Makarov was shocked at the damage, but knew that Lizzy had survived the first bomb, she was still in there. He ran towards the door, Viktor trailing him, as sirens wailed into the street.

"The fire men are here. They will help her." he shouted as he grabbed his boss's shoulder.

Makarov paused briefly to shove him off, sending the other man tumbling into the gravel. Viktor could only watch as Makarov picked his way carefully into the crumbling shell of his house.

At first he couldn't see beyond the smoke that drove him to his knees. It would be a miracle for Lizzy to have survived in here this long. He carefully edged forward, feeling his way in lieu of his eye-sight. He didn't know where she'd be but from the crumbling wreck of his stairs, prayed a silent prayer that she was on the lower floor; he'd never get up to find her.

His outstretched hand suddenly touched what felt like skin and as he drew himself nearer, saw her prone form. It was pointless trying to call to her, her eyes were closed and she was lifeless on the floor. He summoned all his strength and pulled her upright, cursing himself for not being as fit and built as he once was. She was inches smaller than him and definitely lighter, but the smoke in his eyes and his shortness of breath was causing him to struggle. He finally managed to throw her ungracefully over her shoulder and stagger back out into the cool, damp summer air.

Viktor saw Makarov emerge from the flaming wreck of his home and dashed over to help him. The girl looked like a rag doll over his shoulder. Makarov walked as far as he could before dropping to his knees and carefully laying the girl on the ground, her face was black with soot and dust. He laid his ear against her mouth, hoping for the slightest breeze to indicate that she was breathing. He knew she wasn't.

Despite the effect of the smoke on his own lungs, he started breathing for her, quietly ordering Viktor to call for an ambulance while he did so. Viktor had pre-empted his request and sirens could be heard making their way down the street. Makarov glanced away from the girl to see an army of fire men attempting to dampen the blaze. He wasn't bothered about the house but he knew he'd have to pay the Fire Investigator off if he wanted to exact his own revenge on Petrov and cover his tracks. Paramedics rushed towards them.

"Help her" he told them, before rising to his feet and jogging back to his car. Viktor, tired and miserable, decided that his work was over for the evening. He watched the medics stretcher the girl into the back of the ambulance as the BMW screeched away. If Makarov wanted to kill Petrov, there would be no talking him out of it. He headed for home on foot through the warm summer drizzle.

* * *

Viktor would be surprised to find that Makarov hadn't gone to find Petrov, nor was he racing the ambulance to the hospital. Makarov figured that Lizzy was in the best hands possible and if she were to die, hearing the news sooner rather than later would not give him any more comfort.

His thoughts of ending what relationship they had slipped from his mind as soon as he had seen her unconscious. The thought of never seeing her again and the guilt of almost pushing her away twisted in his gut.

He headed for the club instead, barricading himself in his office, intending to tidy himself up and think. The only thing that was certain was that he wanted Petrov to suffer as she must have suffered. Makarov prided himself on not having a temper, on being cool and calm in the face of anything. But he was smouldering, much like the wreck of his house.

Petrov was a liability and a coward, blowing things up was his style. He would never have threatened Makarov in person and he assumed that Petrov had not intended to hurt anyone. But he had, and he would pay for his stupidity. Makarov picked up the telephone and started to make some calls.


	10. Russian's Revenge

Lizzy woke up in hospital three days later. The first thing she became aware of was the large ventilator pipe in her throat and mouth the second, as she blinked her eyes to the left was Vladimir Makarov, looking unkempt, pale and worried, a stark contrast to the smart business man who had left her in bed two months before. As she tried to take a breath, the ventilator prevented her and she started to choke, an unwelcome reminder of why she was laying in this uncomfortable bed in the first place.

Makarov jumped up but the nurses were already rushing in, quickly removing the pipe from down her throat and replacing it with a somewhat more comfortable oxygen mask. It felt like she'd been swallowing razors. As soon as the nurses were gone, she raised her hand to remove the mask but he pulled it away.

"Do not try to talk. Sleep. I will be here when you wake up" he said, gently caressing her forehead.

She wanted to tell him how good it was to see him. That she was sorry about his house. Ask him about his trip. But the intravenous painkillers were strong and made her eyelids heavy, coupled with his soothing touch, she was asleep in no time.

* * *

When she woke a couple of hours later, she felt no more human. Makarov was still there, worry etched in the lines around his blue-green eyes. He looked older than he had before he went away and weary.

Lizzy pulled herself upright against the pillows before Makarov had chance to help her and took stock. Two arms, two legs, her head was obviously where it should be, so despite feeling like shit, she was all in one piece. She pulled the oxygen mask off which had made her face hot and sticky and tried to ask him for a drink. Her voice was little more than a croak and resorted to sign language, miming holding a cup and bringing it up to her mouth. Her throat felt no better when she finished but she tried her voice again.

"Urrrgh" she managed. Her voice had dropped an octave or two, making her sound like a hardened smoker.

Makarov smiled.

"You are a difficult one to get rid of" he said, knowing that his words had a double-meaning. He was relieved though. The doctors had said she would be ok, but Makarov suspected that they had been telling him whatever he wanted to hear. He knew he intimidated them; he had barely moved from her side and prowled the room like a protective lion while they saw to her.

"What... happened?" she asked.

"There was a gas leak" he lied.

She knew he wasn't telling the truth. "But on the phone…? You said Petrov…?"

"I know. I was wrong. It does happen sometimes." He hoped his self-deprecation would distract her.

_Please stop making me lie to you..._ he begged silently _I'm trying to protect you_.

Lizzy remained unconvinced but gave him the benefit of the doubt. She was still alive and the fact that he was here beside her suggested that the trip hadn't changed his feelings towards her, whatever they were.

They spent the day talking punctuated by Lizzy's fits of coughing. Makarov found himself wincing whenever she started. He was no stranger to physical pain; he was certainly used to inflicting it on others, but couldn't stand her suffering.

As the sun went down, she visibly tired and he excused himself from her side. He promised her that he would be back in the morning, but that he couldn't face another night of sleep in the uncomfortable hospital chairs. She teased him for his age before he left her to sleep.

* * *

Sleep however, was the last thing on Makarov's mind. He drove his BMW back to the bar and waited in the gloom of the alley for Viktor to collect him in a different car, bought for cash with the number plates changed. He wasn't taking any chances of being followed.

The car took a looping journey around the city before finally heading into the industrial quarter. Poland's manufacturing sector had suffered the same fate as many in Europe with cheap imports coming in from China, meaning many of the warehouses and factories stood empty, long stripped of machinery. For those that were still open, twenty-four hour production and night shifts were a thing of the past. Makarov had found that the security guards were only too happy to turn a blind eye to him utilising one of the vacant buildings, they were depressingly cheap to pay-off.

Viktor turned off his headlights and quietly parked the car out of sight of the main driveway. The industrial park should be deserted at this time of night, but it paid to be cautious. Makarov unlocked the warehouse door's rusting padlock while Viktor fetched his bag from the boot. The massive building was empty, save for a solitary occupied chair in the very centre of the floor. Makarov could be frighteningly precise when he set his mind to it.

Moonlight streamed in through the high, murky windows and the only sound was of two pairs of feet striding out confidently on the dusty floor towards the seated figure, who started to fidget when it heard them approaching. The hostage was bound tightly to the chair with tape round its chest and legs, arms secured behind its back. Makarov whispered orders to Viktor, who headed back to guard the door after dropping the holdall next to Makarov. It landed with a metallic clank.

Makarov grabbed the hood which hid the figure's face, with a good handful of hair besides, and yanked it off. The figure struggled against its bonds.

"Roman Petrov. So very nice of you to join us."

Viktor and some of his other men had only picked Petrov up a few hours before, but he looked a mess already, fresh marks on his face adding to the ones which had just about healed from his encounter with Lizzy. Makarov had told his men that he wanted the man conscious and in one piece, he wanted Petrov to know why he was here. Tape was wound securely round the man's mouth and Makarov's gloved hand was unflinching in ripping it off.

"You're fucking crazy Vladimir... loco." Petrov spat.

Makarov could almost smell the fear coming off him; he could certainly smell that the man had pissed himself.

"I may be crazy Roman, but you are sat in that chair and I am not" he said lightly before his demeanour changed. "Did you know she was there?" He growled his question without raising his voice.

"What?" Petrov asked, confusion overtaking his anger.

Makarov slapped him round the head, almost toppling the chair with the force of it.

"Listen to me carefully Petrov. Did you know she was there?" Makarov spoke slowly. Despite his lashing out, it was important to be in control.

"Who?" The look on Petrov's face was one of bewilderment, but Makarov had to check he wasn't lying. He smacked him again, harder this time. Again the chair threatened to tip.

"Look... look" Petrov stuttered, before explaining quickly "I don't know who this "she" is you're talking about."

Makarov was satisfied he was telling the truth. Petrov had intended the slight solely against him. He hadn't had the house watched too closely before the attack, just closely enough to know that Makarov himself wasn't there. Whether through malice or stupidity though, Petrov had almost robbed him of the one person Makarov had allowed himself to feel anything for.

"Look... Makarov. I'm sorry. That's what you want to hear isn't it? I'm sorry. We're even now. I will buy you a new house. We can go our separate ways and-..." Petrov was not one of nature's diplomats and faced with Makarov, he certainly wasn't going to talk his way out of this situation. Petrov however, was also not a quick thinker, and failed to realise that fact.

Makarov silenced him with a glare.

"You misjudge me, Roman. I do not care about the house."

Petrov breathed a sigh of relief, taking Makarov's words on face value. If Makarov wasn't bothered about this house, he wasn't bothered about what he'd done to it. For some reason, Petrov's brain ignored the fact that he was tied up in a dark and isolated factory with an obviously displeased Makarov and decided to go for humour

"I should have hit the club then eh?" he joked.

In the face of Makarov's stony silence, his brain had second-thoughts about this tactic when it was already too late.

Makarov shook his head, slowly.

"No, you should have been brave enough to hit me. Somebody almost died because of your cowardice." Makarov was still quiet, his temper in check, while he stalked the floor in front of his hostage.

Confusion spread across Petrov's face again "But the fire report said..."

"Reports can lie."

Makarov bent down and unzipped the bag. He'd had a great deal of experience in torturing people while serving in the army but he'd always had a different motivation than just pure revenge. He had never taken pleasure from it, just satisfaction from a completed job when he had achieved his objective. He had always had to keep people alive long enough for them to tell him the information his superiors needed. Or make enough of a mess of their hostage to affect the morale of their comrades when they found the body. There had always been rules, just not very strict ones.

Now there were no rules, Makarov could push as hard as it would take him to be satisfied, to feel better for the pain Lizzy was feeling. He paused as he thought of her, he knew she wouldn't like this being done in her name. But this was his test, to prove to himself that she wouldn't make him soft or that her presence wouldn't affect anything that Zakhaev was planning in the future.

The tools had been carefully selected; he didn't like to make a mess. Petrov watched him, eyes wide with fear, not trusting himself to speak.

Makarov stood up with a baseball bat in his hands. "If you know the enemy and know yourself, your victory will not stand in doubt."

He swung the bat.


	11. Exacting Executioner

**Thanks to some chapters being merged together, this is the penultimate update.**

**Have a nice Friday everyone :)**

**Sharky**

* * *

For the next week, Makarov spent his days with Lizzy in the hospital and his evenings pushing Petrov closer to death. His arms and shoulders ached with the exertion. Petrov had long since ceased crying out; he had been battered almost senseless.

Makarov knew that the merciful thing to do now would be to let him die but every time he crept into Lizzy's room in the morning, seeing her pale face against the pillow, he realised how close he had come to losing her. Thoughts of his near rejection of her had been pushed to the back of his mind. The need to prolong his revenge consumed him once more. Makarov became two people, reserving everything left that was good in him for Lizzy, unleashing his vengeance on Petrov.

Eventually, the doctors gave Lizzy the nod and told her she would be allowed home the next day. Makarov's presence unnerved them and there was little more they could do for her, rest being the medicine she needed to get back on her feet. For the moment, home would be a hotel room but Lizzy didn't care. Hospitals were a bitter reminder of her Mother's suffering all those years before and she would have happily been anywhere else.

Makarov knew he had to end it with Petrov that night. He wanted nothing more than to spend a restful night with Lizzy in his arms, not creeping out to continue his grim torture. He bid Lizzy farewell before repeating the same routine he had every day for the last seven.

* * *

Petrov was in a sorry state. Dark blood soaked his clothes. He could no longer feel his arms or legs, which came as some relief as both had been subjected to blows from Makarov's blunt instruments. His eyes were swollen shut, his breaths gargled in his mouth.

Viktor had thought days ago that this should have ended but bit his tongue. Nothing he would say would change Makarov's mind, the man was stubborn and he still commanded the same respect as he had when he was an officer. Two other men, Makarov's most trusted, came with them. They would be needed to shift the dead-weight of Petrov's body.

This time, the holdall stayed in the boot of the car. Makarov instead reached in and brought out something which had the other men sharing a look of disbelief tinged with horror. They knew him as a calm and disconnected man, terrifyingly sane when he wanted to be. He was never one for flashy shows of power, even when his unit had been sent out to massacre the villagers during the war. There were worse ways to die than with a bullet through your head. Makarov ensured that the innocent people he had been sent to kill had never found that out. They had heard that the inhabitants "cleared" by other companies had suffered a more gruesome fate. But to his three employees, Makarov looked to be overstepping the line tonight.

He had carefully held himself back while hitting Petrov, he wanted him to last the course. But tonight, he didn't care if he found him dead or alive. When he lifted the sodden hood, he was surprised to him clinging on to life, just.

Makarov dipped down on to his haunches to try and look Petrov in his swollen eyes.

"You know the problem with people like you Roman?" he said quietly, not expecting a response. "You care too much about what people think of you. Me? I only fear judgement at the hands of two people; God and the woman waiting for me when all this is finished. May they both have mercy on my soul."

With that he rose and pulled the hood back over Petrov's face, more the benefit of Makarov and his men than Petrov. Makarov had looked into the eyes of those he had killed, it wasn't a sight he enjoyed. He then grabbed the petrol can that had been sitting by his feet and carefully doused the man in fuel, taking care not to splash himself. The fumes stung at Petrov's eyes and nose and he guessed what fate awaited him. He began to pray silently.

Makarov reached into his jacket and pulled out a box of matches, quickly striking one and flicking it at Petrov's hood, the cloth catching fire immediately, and Petrov began to struggle and moan. Makarov dusted his hands and turned away from the sight, the smell of charring flesh and the sound of Petrov's suffering filling the air.

"When it's done, deal with him" he ordered and stalked away into the warm summer evening.

* * *

Makarov hadn't said anything, but the three men who remained in the warehouse knew that Viktor was now in charge. He looked from the inferno that was Petrov, still alive and wailing, to the other two men.

Assuring himself that Makarov had gone, Viktor made a decision. He pulled his pistol out of his jacket and shot once into Petrov's skull, stilling him immediately.

"Makarov doesn't need to know".


	12. Heart to Heart

Lizzy walked out on to the street, raising her head to feel the summer sun warm her face. Makarov followed her, slipping his hand into hers and leading her to his car.

Viktor had called him that morning; the body had been disposed of. Even if it was found, it would take the Police a while to figure out who it was and once they knew it was Petrov, would relax their investigations. The Police had wanted rid of him for years, as far as they would be concerned, it was another problem off the streets. Makarov knew he'd be long gone by then anyway. The only issue was whether Lizzy was going to be with him. After all that she had been through, he thought it only fair that it was her decision to make.

As he'd walked back through the city the previous night, he'd had time to think. He didn't want to be without her and he knew he had been fooling himself when he thought he could push her away. But she needed to know everything about him in order to protect herself should anything bad occur. She needed to know what he was capable of should she feel the need to walk away, before they both got hurt more.

He needed to find the right words to explain to her that he was a dangerous person but that he could never and would never hurt her. He hoped for his sake that she realised this.

* * *

They sat in the hotel room that night across the table from each other. Lizzy had spent a week eating nothing but hospital food and Makarov was pleased to note that the girl still had an appetite as she perused the room service menu. He watched her eat daintily, feeling too sick to his stomach to join her. He knew he had to tell her everything and that he was at a crossroads that could decide both their futures. He had to place his ultimate trust in her. He grabbed both her hands and stared down at the grain of the wood.

"Lizzy, I have something to tell you" he said. "It is not good."

They'd been in a jovial mood since getting back to the hotel, but she knew that mood had now shifted. Her face instantly became serious. "Do I need to know?"

He looked into her eyes. They were the dark blue of a stormy sea. "I think you do" he said, looking down again.

She nodded and waited for him to start. He told his story, much the same way she had on that night in the club.

"And I lied to you Lizzy" he said, sounding pained.

Her face had been impassive up until that point, but she raised a questioning eyebrow. "Why?"

"The fire. It was Petrov. I think he was trying to make his point against me, he did not know you were there. I forced everyone to think it was an accident, so I could deal with him myself." Makarov's words sounded ominous.

"What did you do?" she asked quietly, her hands starting to tremble in his.

He told her of the execution, not sparing the gory details. Even to his own ears, it sounded terrible.

"But... why? Why would you do that?" she said, eventually. She felt dizzy with shock.

"Because he almost cost you your life." Makarov realised how hollow that sounded. "I was angry."

Lizzy pulled her hands back from his and his heart sank. "Would you ever get angry with me?"

He looked up for the first time and saw genuine fear in her face. That look broke his heart. "No Lizzy. I could never..."

"What?" she said. Her emotions became tangled and had settled on furious. "Hurt me? Kill me?"

"Anything" he said, calm in the face of her anger "Lizzy, I love you."

She laughed scornfully "What do you want? A subservient little wife to stay at home and do as she's told?"

"No, you are my equal. You always will be. I know the things I've done..." his voice trailed away "... but I would sooner kill myself than raise a hand to you."

"And why did you go back to Russia? More trouble?"

He told her of Zakhaev and his plans. He knew it could be dangerous and foolish, but Lizzy already had enough information on him to get him in trouble if she felt so obliged.

"So what happens to me? Have you forgotten where I come from? It doesn't fit in with your nationalist ideals" she asked finally.

He shook his head. "I could keep you safe. We might not always be together because I don't want you to be involved. If anything ever happened to me, I would not let it come back on you."

She sighed deeply. Her temper had subsided and now she just looked conflicted. "What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to say?" Lizzy's tone was imploring.

"I don't know. I want you to stay. But you can go if you want to, I won't follow you" he walked over to his bag on the bed and came back with a package. "If you do go, I want you to take this."

Lizzy opened it, it was full of cash and reignited her anger. "What's this? Money for services rendered?" she threw the envelope back at him. "I'm not your whore."

She grabbed her coat from the back of the chair and stormed out. Makarov watched her go and then buried his face in his hands.


	13. The End or the Beginning?

Lizzy had felt like she was suffocating in the hotel room. She needed air. Ignoring the looks of concern from the staff on the reception, she walked briskly to the hotel garden illuminated by the moonlight.

The air was warm but fresh as she walked down the concrete stairs to the ornamental pond. The sound of tricking water filled the air as Lizzy tried to think. She wasn't really angry with Makarov. Other than Petrov's torture and this man Zakhaev, she knew, or at least suspected, most of the other things he'd told her. She was angrier at herself for getting involved with him, of acting like a lovestruck child.

It would be easier for her if he was a monster, but he wasn't. He had never been anything but kind, gentle and polite with her. Even in the hotel room, he had looked hurt at her accusations and questions about whether he would hurt her. She was certain he was telling the truth. But it all it did was make her more confused.

She lay back on the cool stone of the pond and looked up at the moon. She was hit with a kind of grief for the man he could have been had his circumstances been different.

She heard footsteps walking down the path but she didn't move and saw Makarov sit down wearily next to her.

She sat up. "Liar" she said eventually.

He looked at her, questioning. He'd been nothing but honest...

She saw his look of confusion and smiled a weak smile. "You said you wouldn't follow me."

Realisation cleared his face. "I did not think you should be alone. And I needed to apologise for offending you. That was not my intention."

"I think offending me is going to be at the end of a very long list come your judgement day" Lizzy replied sadly. She leaned against his arm, which he then raised and placed around her shoulders.

"I can't change" he said.

"Can't or won't?" she retorted. He didn't give her an answer.

"And if I ever want out...?" she asked.

"... then you're free to go" he said. "Not that I ever want you to. But I would not stop you."

"Just like you wouldn't follow me?" she asked.

He smiled a sad smile and looked down at her. "Come with me Lizzy. If there is any hope for me, it lies with you."

She took a deep breath. She quite literally had nothing to lose. "Don't make me regret it."

* * *

**Sorry that it ends on a cliffhanger but that really is how this one draws to a close.  
**

**I will be back soon with the "main event" as it were, which is already twice as long as this story and encompasses a whole cast of characters, ones whose back-stories you already know and need little further explanation.**

**So until then, thank you for reading and word to your mothers!**

**Sharky**


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